Standing Ovation
by Elle Mira
Summary: "There was a nagging knot in the depths of my stomach, a worried, sickly feeling, a constant reminder of my mother's betrayal." We know about Andy, but where was Ephram on the night of Julia's death?


When I began, the audience was quiet. _This is the kid who's good, _they were all most likely thinking. _The one who will earn the standing ovation. _They had heard of me, no doubt, from their sons and daughters, my fellow students. I had always been the best, praised and almost worshipped, given finales at each recital due to merit.

I had played it hundreds of times at home, over and over again home. I had it memorized, note by note. At school I would close my eyes and play it in the air and my friends would laugh and punch my shoulder and tell me to snap out of it. I could hum the whole thing straight through. Backwards.

But it had never been so hard to start. Because before, I never had to look in the audience, scanning for that smiling, encouraging face, without success. Before, she had always been there.

Now, I couldn't think of any reason why my mother would miss my piano recital.

I couldn't find my father's face in the audience, but that was no surprise. Delia was expectedly absent as well, with a babysitter; she had stopped coming to my recitals years ago, bored by them. But my mother? She was always there.

There was a nagging knot in the depths of my stomach, a worried, sickly feeling, a constant reminder of my mother's betrayal. I tried desperately to fight it as I began my piece.

I started off slow, quietly, with mounting passion as the battle with the knot in my stomach continued. I bathed in self-pity, feeling unloved and alone. 

My piano teacher had always told me that I was a horrible sight-reader; that I didn't read the music. It was true. I memorized it, and I let my attention drift when it really mattered. Now I did just that. I let my fingers do the work, and my eyes wandered. I found Katherine in the crowd, and normally I would have been happy to see her, but now I was too preoccupied. My eyes shot to the birthplace of every camera flash, but my mother was not there. I could picture her, staring up at me behind the camera lens, smiling, but she wasn't in the room. I turned my attention back to the piece, switching off of automatic pilot and taking the wheel once more.

Closer and closer the dreaded "middle part" came, and I continued to feel sorry for myself, thinking of one hundred reasons why my mother was not there. She was bored and disinterested by my recitals now, I decided, she was annoyed with my awful playing. 

As these morbid thoughts molded, tears began to blur my vision. I knew I had to see my fingers to get through the "middle part" but the tears continued to well up in my eyes. When I finally reached that section, my hand slipped and . . . 

. . . An awful chord echoed through the auditorium. 

I paused to wipe a tear from my cheek, and then I inhaled shakily. The audience was silent, probably feeling embarrassed for the idiot who had messed up. 

__

I'll make up for it, I decided, starting up again from where I had made the mistake.

But once more, I made a mistake that made one cringe upon hearing it.

Whispers began to resonate through the crowd.

I gritted my teeth, tears still falling freely, and started once more. But again, my fingers slipped, and the whispers grew louder.

I could not play another key now; when I tried, it sounded like a toddler banging away. There were tears streaming down my cheeks, and I stood up from the bench and ran off of the stage.

__

You certainly are the best, Brown, said the cynical knot in my stomach. _Some finale. _

I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to run, run, run. Run away from the laughter of the other students, run away from my teacher's disappointed face, run away from all of it. But unfortunately, two stocky police officers stood in my way.

"Ephram Brown?" one asked.

Not knowing what to think, I replied, "Y-yes?"

They both removed their hats very gravely. "I'm sorry, son, but your mother . . . has been in a car accident."

Surprise flooded over my features as it suddenly all made sense, but at the same time I was struck with worry. 

__

She's all right, she must be all right.

I wiped a tear from my cheek, and was about to ask them if she was indeed all right, when I heard a sound I had not been expecting.

I moved a curtain to get a better view. There before me was the piano, the instrument that had shaped my life. But it was not that which had attracted my attention.

It was the audience. Someone had started clapping. Slowly, unsure. And every single person was applauding, cheering, whistling, getting to their feet.

Now, years later, I know.

My mother got the standing ovation.

--Fin--

[A/N: This came to me late at night, just before I dozed off. So, if you didn't like it, it's not really my fault . . . I was half-asleep, you know. 

I've had little inspiration lately, and except for the thoughts of a real more-than-one-part-story, it's been difficult to think of anything. All I can say is, September 15th, come quickly, because when you do, it'll be one-shot heaven for Elle. :) I just need new material, that's all!

--Elle]


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